


Lamb of God

by KimberSquire



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: After the depression, Anal Sex, Blood, God knows if it will work but hey, Gore, I'm trying to make myself feel better with fanfiction, Oral Sex, Post Season 3 Episode 13, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sex, Triggers, attempted suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 17:20:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4754711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimberSquire/pseuds/KimberSquire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lamb of God, take away the Sins of the World. Have Mercy on Us.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. May Flights of Devils Carry Thee to Thy Rest

Numb. The first sensation to be felt, and then cold. Then damp. Then pain. It blossomed now through the numbness of the body and soaked into every crevice it could find to call home. The shaking started soon and it did not seem likely to stop anytime soon.

Will reached for the blankets that rested on top of him, but even then he found himself too weak to move, barely able to drag his hand across the quilted surface, much less to grasp it and pull it closer to him. He attempted, miserably, despite the pain and the overwhelming exhaustion threatening to throw his mind into a darkened state once more, and he grasped it tightly, struggling to pull it, twisting his body in every such way. He held back the sounds of pain, body aching and protesting until he turned his head to the side and a lash of pain came out to lick at his right cheek, a sound of agony slipping out before he could school himself. His vision began to grow dark once more and on the cusp of that abyss, a hand rested on his forehead and he felt safe enough to allow consciousness to slip away.

Days stirred by in a mix of hot and cold as darkness always lingered in the corners of Will’s vision and a calming hand always rested on his forehead. His eyes flicked back and forth but he found that he could not see past the edging dark that crept closer now. Ever closer. His breath felt thick in his throat as he gulped down air and it dragged itself slowly into his lungs, just to sit there and fester slowly. A part of him wished it would end now. A mercy it would be to be greeted by death and walk with him forever as a friend. But he knew in his death he would only once more find Hannibal. There was no place for him now in Heaven, no place for him to hide. He had lain with the Devil himself and had played his role in his own Faustian legend quite well. The hand felt so cold on his forehead and even now he wished it would be merciful and find a home around his throat.

Blinding sunlight was the first sight Will met when he was finally able to see again and he was forced to shut his eyes, red flaring behind his closed eye lids as he attempted to shield himself from the ever present sun. A groan of annoyance slipped past his lips and he attempted to reach up and close the blind, but a flash of pain, coming from his chest held him back and a grunt came through clenched teeth and he allowed himself to fall back slowly. The redness still remained, but there was nothing to be done about it. He would be tormented until nightfall by its presence. Footsteps could be heard throughout the space, but Will was none too curious as to venture into the thought as to who might have nursed him out of the fever. 

A distant humming could be heard and a part of Will hoped that it was just humming of a radiator, but even he couldn’t fool himself for very long as the humming began to be accompanied by footsteps. His eyes remained shut, no longer to just protect him from the rays of the sun. He heard a door open and his heart pounded in his chest, excitement running through him in wave upon wave. A ruffling sound filled the air and Will could no longer see red behind his eyelids. The blinds were shut. Slowly, Will allowed himself to open his eyes. 

He did not know why he expected Hannibal to look different. Why he thought that there must be some form of significant change in the man, he’ll never understand. Perhaps he believed it would be subtle, such as a change in his eyes, the way he carried himself, however, it appeared to be all the same. The room was dim now, but traces of light still leaked through the blinds and created patterns of light on the hardwood floors. Will flicked his gaze around the room, taking in what appeared to be a small beach house. The room was painted a light blue and accents littered the room. Images of ships and docks littered the space and he couldn’t help but smile at how quaint and normal the room seemed to be. A small cough and his gaze flicked back to Hannibal.

“We were meant to die being smashed against those rocks,” Will whispered, “The sea would have ended us, before we could end each other.”

“The fever was more likely to take you than the waves, William. You mistake how willing your body was to continue you on with life.”

Will laughed bitterly and he turned his head to look at the light streaming through the windows, “My body tried to die, but apparently you tried harder to save me.”  
Hannibal came to sit on the edge of the bed and he rested his hand on Will’s leg, just above his knee. Will swallowed down the feeling that crawled up his throat and settled there, eyes flicking back over to the doctor. He did not glare at him, simply stared at him with an open face. There was nothing left to hide now, not from Hannibal. He could feel a buzzing at the back of his skull and it travelled like an army of ants over his skin. His eyes grew heavy, sickness still weighed him down it seemed. He allowed his eyes to fall shut and he drifted back into a comforting nothingness. 

 

Fingertips ran along the base of his skull and he sighed heavily, eyes remaining shut as he leaned into the touch. The hand was not gentle as it held the nape of his neck, but it rubbed free all the tension that had built and rested there, infecting him with pain. His eyes fluttered open and he could see no light pouring in from the windows this time. Night fall. He wondered if it was a new day, or simply if it was just a few wasted hours. 

“Dinner will be ready soon, if you’re so inclined to move out of bed,” Hannibal spoke, withdrawing his fingers away from his skull and Will found that he missed the touch, “Or perhaps you prefer that I bring the meal to bed?”

“I’m not a child, Hannibal, I can eat at the table,” he spoke, sitting up in the bed and he moved to stretch, hissing as he pulled at the stitches on his chest. He bit his lip to hold back the sound of pain and rose to his feet.

“There are clothes for you in the far closet. Please join me,” Hannibal smiled as he stepped out of the room, turning back slowly to face him, “Whenever you’re ready.”

Will simply nodded his head and as he heard the door shut, he let out a loud sigh and he shut his eyes once more, simply relaxing. Leisurely, he walked over to the closet and when he pulled it open, he found himself to be rather underwhelmed with his lack of surprise. An array of fine clothes, tailored specifically, it was obvious. Will felt his heart beat erratically in its cage, aching to break free and flee from the thought that trickled from the back of his mind and settled into his neck. The old aches returned. He swallowed it down, embracing the feeling and stripped quickly, before slowly putting on the tailored clothes piece by piece. He did not bother to look himself over, he knew what he must look like.

 

He made his way out of the bedroom, looking around. The house matched the room in its simplicity, completely dull and boring with its ocean theme. He smirked to himself and he continued walking until he came to the dining room. Hannibal could not be seen and he knew that he had made home in the kitchen. He took his seat at the head of the table and waited. The moment the doctor emerged, he spoke.

“How long have you had this place waiting for us?” he asked, voice curious and laced with an almost condescending tone.

Hannibal was carrying two plates in his hands and he paused in the archway between the kitchen and the dining room. He did not appear to ponder the question, the answer resting just on the tip of his tongue, but still he remained silent as he placed the plate down in front of Will. Decidedly meat free. Simply an omelette filled with peppers and spices. He did not touch the food and he looked up at Hannibal, waiting for an answer.

“I had it made for you, Abigail, and I.” Hannibal spoke simply, turning back to take his own spot.

Will fell silent and he stared down at his plate. He picked up his knife and fork and began to cut away at the omelette, raising the first portion to his mouth and chewing, before swallowing it down. He could feel an anger building up inside of him as he thought of Abigail, of the life they could have had together. 

“You would have let the waves take me if you wanted me dead,” Will spoke, before he took another bite of the omelette, not allowing himself to savour the taste before he swallowed.

“I would not allow the waves such an honour, nor would I have allowed the Dragon to take you either. Your life belongs solely in my hands.”

Will swallowed down the piece of omelette and he looked up at Hannibal, who simply smiled and took a bite of his own omelette. The sky grew darker and the wind could be heard rattling against the windows and the sea crashed nearby, but it brought a feeling of piece. Will finished his omelette and carried his plate into the kitchen, beginning to wash it. A few minutes later, footsteps echoed across the tile floor and a hand rested on his shoulder as Hannibal reached around to place the dish in the sink. Will looked up and caught a glance of his face in the window pane and he quickly averted his gaze.

“I called the Dragon ugly, in turn, he made me so,” he laughed slightly and looked away, turning around to face Hannibal, “It will never heal, not fully. Will it?”

“No, it will not. But do not think yourself ugly, Will. Scars have the power to-”Hannibal started.

“Remind us who we really are,” Will finished and he reached a hand up to run over the line on his face, touching the bumps of thread that held his cheek together. He went to move his hand down to the scar on his chest, but Hannibal’s hand stopped him.

Will stared at him curiously, but he did not question when the older man guided his hand slowly lower, moving it away from Will’s own body towards Hannibal’s. There was a tension in the air that could be cut with a knife and it set Will’s teeth on edge. The edge of the doctor’s shirt was pulled loose and he felt his hand being placed on flesh. It was jagged and rough. The gunshot wound.

“I never even thought to ask…” Will spoke, but made no move to apologize for his negligence. 

Hannibal smiled and then used his other hand to pull at the lapels of Will’s shirt, pulling it up to reveal his own work. When he felt the cannibal’s cool fingertips run over the clean line of the scar, it felt like he was being cut all over again. For the first time, he could see Hannibal and that night ran through his head all over again and the only feeling he could think of was betrayal. He closed his eyes, and saw their fall from the cliff. He shook his head. 

“I would never be rid of you, until I was dead. I would never know life without you, unless…” Will shook his head again. “I allowed you to forgive me and then I tore it away from you once more. I would not wish you gone from the world, only myself.”

He took a step away from Hannibal and he could feel his hand trembling and he raised it up to his mouth, taking a rather large breath as he turned to go back to the bedroom. He only made it a few steps before he felt a wave of unsteadiness hit him. He leaned against the wall and shut his eyes, nausea building in his stomach just to claw its way into his throat. He breathed heavily and did not hear Hannibal approach behind him. He was pulled against the man’s side and allowed himself to be supported on his way back to the bedroom. He felt the cold sheets on him once more. He saw Hannibal turned to leave, but he reached out to him. 

“I know what you want from me,” Will spoke, but Hannibal hushed him not a moment later.

“You gave me what I wanted the moment you gave into your most basic desires and slayed the Dragon,”

“Dolarhyde has nothing to do with this…” Will whispered and closed his eyes. “You want me to bring you back to life, to quicken you once more. I am not able to raise you back to the glory you wish. The Chesapeake Ripper died in those waters, Hannibal. As did Special Agent Will Graham.”

“Only until our rebirth, William,” Hannibal spoke, resting a hand on his scar, pressing into the healed tissue, forcing a hiss out of Will before he left the room, plunging the room into a thick darkness that reminded Will of drowning. 

 

The sunlight streaming through the blinds awoke Will the following morning. He smiled softly, turning in his bed to reach for Molly, only to find the bed empty. He groaned loudly and rolled over onto his side, leaning down to reach for the dogs, only to find the floor. He opened his eyes fully, despite the sun and sat up in the now familiar horror of his new home. His breath came out shaking and he rested his hand upon his scar. He knew now, it would not be so easy to separate himself from Hannibal. Until death do they part, and Will knew now, even in death, they would not be parted. They would walk hand in hand through the Inferno.


	2. Chapter 2

The feeling of the hardwood against his feet caused them to instantly cramp. Will squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to ignore the stiffness as he walked, exiting the bedroom. The house was cold but filled with light as he moved through the hallway. He made no move to enter the kitchen, but rather explored the small beach house, curious as to what else he would find in the home Hannibal had made for him. The air in the house smelt like the sea and Will took deep breaths, relaxing himself. He knew there was nothing he could find here that would surprise him.

The walls remained through the house a light blue, the colour of the ocean when it was almost transparent, but the sun still gave it the reflection of blue. He stayed close to the wall. No pictures hung in the hallway. It was a blank space. Not their home. Only temporary. He came across a set of doors and he stood in front of them. He knew that they must lead to Hannibal’s own room. He hesitated outside of them. Logically, he should have kept walking along. There was no need for him to be curious. Dr. Lecter was not so idiotic as to hide the private parts of his life within his bedroom.

Still, Will found himself opening the door slowly and peering inside. He had no time to glance, before Hannibal stood before the door. Will stumbled back, but held his ground, looking up at Hannibal. The man said nothing, simply smiled in that all to knowing way of his that left Will feeling like a chastised child, and gestured for him to come in. He walked in rather quickly, brushing past Hannibal and into the bedroom. 

It looked very much like the room Will was in, white sheets and blue accents, perhaps with a few scattered elements of sandy brown, but the theme of a beach house never quite left. There was nothing here that spoke of Hannibal. They would be leaving this place soon.

“Is there something you needed, Will? I was just about to prepare breakfast. Perhaps you had a specific request?” Hannibal asked, leaning close to him, but Will did not shy away.

“Preferably something vegetarian for now,” Will spoke, turning around to face Hannibal with a smirk, “I wouldn’t want to make you go hunting so soon.”  
Hannibal kept his smile on his face, turning to exit the room, “Pity, I already have.”

Will watched him exit, no element of surprise evident on his face. He’d assumed already. Last night was a luxury he would not be accustomed to. He found himself unmoved by the idea of consuming flesh. Perhaps he had consumed it for so long now, it was just a part of him.   
Wendigo.

He watched the creature move through the halls and he simply stared. He knew what he saw, recognized it as a representation of the thing Hannibal really was, presented to him in the image of something frightening and fictional so that he could distance himself from the horror of it. Before they reached the kitchen, Hannibal, just Hannibal, turned to look at him. A gentle hand found its way to Will’s cheek, resting over the scar and he lightly ran his thumb over his scar. He watched the skin on Hannibal’s hand turn black and a sharp pain moved through his scar and when he looked down at his hands, he saw that they were black. His heart beat rapidly in his chest, but he simply shut his eyes, allowing Hannibal to keep stroking over the skin. He felt lips against his ear and a voice spoke to him in such a gentle tone.

“I never wished for you to carry a mark that was not of my own making,” the man spoke, the words curling in the empath’s mind and they settled there, preparing to burrow themselves forever in his memory. Hannibal grabbed his hand and brought it to rest on the bullet wound that Dolarhyde had left him, “And I would not have had a mark left on me that was not from you.”

“You should consider yourself blessed,” Will spoke, his breath hitting the palm of Hannibal’s hand as he looked up at him, “You never would have survived the mark I would have left on you.”

He pulled away as Hannibal’s eyes widened and he kept his face neutral as he slipped passed the cannibal in order to make his way into the kitchen, going to put on coffee, though Hannibal cut in front of him, turning back to look at Will with an almost condescending look on his face.

“You act as though I would even allow the swill you drink to even enter my house,” Hannibal spoke, “Now go to the dining room. I’ll be there shortly.”

Will turned away from him and moved into the dining room and took his seat and shortly, Hannibal appeared, carrying a steaming cup of coffee and a plate of toast and eggs and an array of fruit. He leaned close as he placed the plate down and Will could feel his breath on the back of his neck and he closed his eyes, before he settled and began to eat. Hannibal pulled away after a few moments and settled down to eat his own meal. It was passed in an easy silence.

Will took the plates once the meal was finished and he placed them within the sink, beginning to scrub them clean, and he cleaned the pans as well. He knew Hannibal stood in the doorway, but he paid him little mind, settling on just finishing the cleaning. Once he was finished, he turned towards Hannibal, who let out a small laugh. He looked down to see his shirt soaked in water and he rolled his eyes. He moved to pull it off, peeling it off and over his shoulders and away from his elbows, before folding it over his arm and moving to go back to the bedroom. He did not hear Hannibal following behind him. 

He opened the drawer and looked through, sighing as he realized that Hannibal had taken it upon himself to use this as an opportunity to make sure that plaid was eliminated from his wardrobe. He slipped on an off white button up with stark contrasting black buttons. The shirt fit well, and he knew that it had been made precisely for him. He walked out of the bedroom and peered back into the kitchen, seeing Hannibal leaning against the counter.

“Thank you for the clothes,” Will spoke, “It must have cost you quite a bit to get all of this ready,”

“I am simply glad that it did not end up going to waste,” Hannibal spoke, “Well, at least not what I prepared for you.”

Will felt his heart sadden at the implication of Abigail. A part of him wondered what it would have been like, the three of them all together and happy. He looked around the house and he felt its emptiness now and he closed his eyes for a moment, absorbing the feeling of loss that settled within his very bones.

“I want to leave this house,” Will spoke, “As soon as we possibly can.”

“Memories will follow you, whether we are in this house or not,” Hannibal said, voice rather calm, “You cannot escape them, you’ve seen that before, William.”

“You would not allow me to forget,” Will whispered and looked away from the other. “I want to make new memories, not dwell on the old ones. There is nothing tying me to this place.”

“Molly and Walter? You feel no call towards them?” 

“They believe I am dead and I believe it is better that way. Molly will not be too distraught to be a widow. They will mourn me and then I will simply become a bad memory. Better a bad memory than a bad father and a bad husband.”

“You were never a bad husband, William, simply one that she could not appreciate,” 

“Not the way you can?” Will joked, moving to lean against the counter and he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Nobody will ever appreciate you the way that I do, Will.”

“I know,” he spoke, voice rather calm, “And I feel as though that thought should frighten me, rather than comfort me.”

Hannibal approached him and rested a hand on his shoulder, “There is nothing to be frightened of now, Will, nor will there be again,”

“Even if the FBI and Jack Crawford come after us?” Will asked, looking at the hand on his shoulder.

“If they made that decision, they would find themselves spread out across our dining table.”

Will found a fond smile spreading across his face, “When do we leave?”

A month was spent in that house of meant to be memories that plagued Will’s mind every time he shut his eyes. He could hear Abigail in his head while he was awake and while he slept and now, Hannibal was the only comforting presence that he had. He knew what was happening, the co-dependency that was starting to form between him and Hannibal. He relied on him now, to provide for him and he knew that he would have to trust him to get the both safely away from the ever looking gaze of the FBI. At the end of that long month, Will found himself seated nervously in first class of a one way flight to London. A new start for the both of them. 

In the middle of the air, Will still felt afraid of what would become of them were they discovered. He knew that Hannibal would not be so foolish as to make a mistake that would give them away, not yet anyway, but he did not trust himself to not let something slip. He sipped at his champagne and he watched as his hand visibly shook. A stewardess noticed the tremor and watched him intently and he could feel his chest rising and falling as he took in large intakes of breath. He felt Hannibal’s hand grasp his own and he turned to look at him and he saw the doctor lean in close, his lips on his ear.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, William. Keep that in mind and nobody will take notice of you.”

Hannibal’s voice was reassuring and he nodded his head, before he pulled his hand away. He schooled himself and settled back, closing his eyes as he attempted to rest throughout the flight. All would be well soon. At least, it would have been if there had not been complications. Half way through the flight, Will stood up and moved towards the bathroom, opening the door and moving to go inside, before another man pushed his way inside. Before Will could get over his shock, the man had locked the door. Instantly, Will became cold and he moved to push past him, but the man stood in his way, a disgusting leer on his face. 

“Something about your face seems familiar,” the man spoke, a sneer splitting his face in two and Will couldn’t help but to let out a scoff. 

“I doubt you would forget a face like mine, now please get out or allow me to pass.” Will was all politeness, but only for now. Hannibal must have noticed the current situation. He would only offer the man so much time to amend his actions. 

“Did your nasty lover give that to you?” he asked, running a finger over the scar and instantly Will slapped his hand away, feeling the skin of the scar prickle. The man simply laughed, “He is a nasty one, isn’t he? Hannibal Lecter. I read about him on the Internet. I read about the both of you. Freddie Lounds has some interesting insight into the both of you. ‘Murder Husbands’, I believe is what she uses to describe you…”

Will Graham swore in that moment that he would kill Freddie Lounds for real this time. Burn her corpse and send it right to Crawford’s office. He wouldn’t even try to hide that it was him who did it. He looked up at the man and his face became hard. The man posed as a threat to him, to Hannibal. Instantly he launched striking the man hard across the nose. Before the other could even think to let out a scream, Will moved his knee up into the man’s groin. He grabbed the man’s left hand, he made note that the other was left hand dominant, and struck himself across his right cheek, ripping open a small part of the scar once more. Instantly he felt blood trickling down and he lowered the hand. He smirked down at him and he unlocked the bathroom door, making a show of stumbling out. He saw Hannibal out of his seat. Little faith. He stumbled over to him and wrapped his arms around the doctor, making a perfectly sympathizing spectacle for the other passengers on the plane. 

“Is everything alright?” A pretty stewardess came up to him, her hair having fallen out of place at some point during the flight. She rested a comforting hand on Will’s shoulder and he nodded, turning back to point at the man. 

“He attacked me. Or, he tried to. I’m fine and I don’t wish to press charges, but please keep him away from us,” Will specifically kept his voice soft and placid.

The man stumbled out of the bathroom, holding his nose that was gushing with blood. He was dragged away quickly before there was even an opportunity for him to make a scene. They wouldn’t listen to a word he said until the plane landed. At that point, Will and Hannibal would be long gone. Will was guided back to his seat, where he was given a second helping of champagne to calm his nerves and where Hannibal took it as an opportunity to play the doting love and hold and stroke his hand. 

“He knows who we are. We can’t kill him, not now, but they are not going to listen to him until they have him in an interrogation room when the plane lands. At that point, we drop these names and lay low. No killing, do you understand me?” Will asked, leaning close to Hannibal, as though he were about to kiss him before he pulled away quickly.

He felt Hannibal’s finger run over the open wound and he closed his eyes, not bothering to push the other away. “It will heal again. It will still be a scar. You saw to that. Don’t play gentle with me now.” He leaned back against his seat and closed his eyes, content to allow sleep to take him away.

 

He supposed that he should have seen it coming. Hannibal liked to deal with as little complications as possible and with alcohol in his system and the fear that grew inside of him plaguing him, he would have been nothing more than a complication. He should be grateful that the doctor didn’t simply leave him unconscious somewhere for the police to find. Instead, he found himself in a small but rather beautiful bedroom, adorned with Baroque styled furnishings. He should have expected no less from Hannibal. Sun streamed through the windows once more. A familiar way to wake up. London would bring more rain to their lives, but he supposed it would wash away all their transgressions, if only the ones that could be seen on the outside. 

He made his way over to the window and peered outside, surprised to see a peaceful green shrouded in gray clouds that only just let the sun peek through. The green spiraled up a mountainside the loomed in the distance of the flat. The beauty could not disguise his anger towards Hannibal. Easily deceived. He made his way out of the flat quickly, and he could hear footsteps coming after him, but he did not wait to get caught. 

 

Scotland lay beneath his feet and in the air surrounding him. Edinburgh was in the prime of its day and it was glorious.


	3. Chapter 3

There was a crisp breeze blowing through the park as Will walked slowly, hands shoved into his pockets as he moved. It stung his cheeks and left them a rose red that stood stark against the otherwise pale features of his face. He could hear children laughing and he turned to see a mother pushing her two little girls on the swing. They giggled loudly as they were pushed higher and higher and Will couldn’t help but to split into a smile as he heard them laugh. He thought of Abigail. He thought of a life with Hannibal and with a child and he felt a space in his heart turn black the moment he heard one of the little girl’s gasp, stopping dead in her swing as she looked at Will. Her eyes rested on the scar and her mother quickly stood in front of her, giving a rather loud and obvious scolding about not reacting that way to people. Will did not stay to hear it.

The wind picked up as he walked and leaves swirled around the paved path through the park and came off on the cobblestone streets of Edinburgh. The buildings created a tunnel for the wind to travel to and he lowered his face in order to look at the ground, the wind causing his eyes to burn with tears. He walked up slowly through the streets until his eyes landed on the statue of Greyfriars Bobby. He had heard the story once when he was younger and it had stuck with him and now, he thought back to his own pack. The pack that he had abandoned. His hands trembled in his pockets and his skin itched. He turned away from the statue and he continued his walk. 

Edinburgh Castle looked glorious in the fall. Standing tall at the head of the Royal Mile, it kept its image of power throughout the centuries. He entered the grounds just in time to hear the canon salute, a ritual he had taken to listening to every day since their arrival in Scotland. Due to the high risk of the officials in England listening to the man, Hannibal had taken it upon himself to escort Will and himself to safety, without the informed consent of Will himself. The drug had faded from his system quickly, but the resounding betrayal still lingered in the air. He had spent most of his time alone since then. 

He lingered awhile after the canon salute, watching people come and go and he looked over the edge of the mountain calmly. He then returned back from his walk, moving down the Royal Mile, past Holyrood House and Holyrood Park. Away from the flat he shared with Hannibal. Up the winding path of the dormant volcano known as Arthur’s Seat. A beautiful vantage point for the entire city. It was also a rather popular place for people to commit suicide. There was no rail to stop people, no warning. It was just high enough. Easy enough. He sat down and looked over the horizon, closing his eyes as he heard footsteps upon the ground, settling beside him. 

“I come here to be alone, Hannibal. You know that…” his voice was quiet, no desire to sound opposing to the other.

“I told you to return home for dinner, we had a guest. It is rude to stand up company, Will.”

“I forgot,” Will spoke honestly and looked down at his feet, “I seem to be doing that quite often.”

Hannibal did not move to sit down next to the Special Agent, but simply moved around him, staring down and hovering over him. Will looked up and locked eyes with him, raising a brow as he waited for Hannibal to say something in opposition to him, or perhaps to come up with some form of diagnosis that Will would never properly listen to. Instead the former psychiatrist simply held out his hand. He eyed it only for a moment before he took it, allowing himself to be pulled up. He slipped his hand away and began to walk down the path, kicking scattered stones around and he closed his eyes as he walked down, Hannibal’s hand guiding him whenever he strayed a bit too far.

Eventually they made it back to the flat and the smell of cooked meat lingered in the air, but the room was empty. Will did not even have a thought of hope. He moved into the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of beer from the fridge, only to have it be snatched away from him. He seemed a bit shocked for a moment, before he lowered his hand and turned back, pouring himself a glass of water and he drank it slowly, throwing back two Aspirins and he ran a hand through his hair.

“Tell me you at least had the decency to not murder him in the house,” Will spoke, leaning back against the counter, “It would be idiotic to jeopardize our position so early on in your escape.”

“I agree with you, William, but I have years of experience. Someone like you is not likely to come along again to ruin me. You were special.” Hannibal spoke and moved to open the oven door, pulling out their meals which Hannibal looked over, obviously displeased that the meal was not eaten when it was intended to be. 

“Am I not still special?” he asked, his voice carrying a mocking tone as he moved to sit down. He watched as Hannibal disposed of the meal, “And am I to be sent to bed with no supper like some rude child who broke Mummy and Daddy’s orders?”

“You missed the opportune time for the meal. It has spoiled and I shall not serve a spoiled meal.”

Will ran a hand through his hair and let out a large breath of air, closing his eyes. A hand came to rest on his shoulder and he refused to look up, refused to even move. Will’s mind travelled back to the fall. Had he wanted to die? Had he hoped, when he plunged them into the ocean, that this would be the outcome? His mind was spinning and he felt lost. The grip on his shoulder tightened and he looked up this time. 

“Are you going to stay with me here, Will? Or do you plan to run like you always do, far away from whatever frightens you. From that true part of yourself that you see in me?”

“I’m not afraid of you, Hannibal. Even if I was, where would I go?” he asked, voice quiet, but firm.

Hannibal removed his hand, but a smile formed on his lips. “Go upstairs, Will. I’ll bring something up for you shortly.”

He nodded his head and Will did not hesitate to move quickly, up to his own bedroom. He left the door ajar as he sat there, resting against the headboard. He picked up the book from his nightstand and he glanced over the words, reading them, but not entirely taking them in. They settled in the back of his mind, though they held no place there and he gave them no more than a second thought, if he even bothered to offer them a first. His body itched, he felt uncomfortable. He wanted to move. He heard the footsteps coming up the stairs first, before stopping just outside the door. Hannibal pushed the door with his shoulder, opening it wider as he slid inside, two china tea cups resting in his hands. He placed one down on the nightstand on Will’s dominant side and he held the other tightly in his grasp as he sat at the end of Will’s bed.

“Shall you break this tea cup,” Will asked, moving to take a sip of the scalding beverage, the heat of it spreading through his body and sending a pleasant shiver up his spine, “To see if it will come back together? Or are you far beyond that hope?”

“You act as though my tea cup has not yet come back together, William,” Hannibal said, taking a sip of his own, “I have my family now.”

“I’m hardly a family, Hannibal. I offer you nothing.”

“Your company is enough to sustain me.”

“For now,” Will muttered and drank another sip of his tea, feeling his body relax instantly. 

Will rested back against the pillows and he allowed his eyes to fall shut. His grip on the cup became loose in his hand and Hannibal took it away, his fingers delicately brushing over Will’s as he did so, before placing it on the nightstand. A small laugh fell out from the ex profiler’s lips and he smirked.

“Should have known you…” he trailed off, his body feeling heavy now, “You would put something in the tea…”

“You need to rest, William. A mind like yours is no companion in dark times like these. When you rest easy, the day will become far more clear to you.”

Will could only nod his head at this point and he settled deep into the pillows, the tension in his body releasing slowly. He felt the sheets being pulled over his body and he sighed softly, his mind going dark, but he could still hear a few whispered words and he wanted to claw at them, dig his nails into the words and draw them closer to him and covet them for all his days. He could not reach them as he slipped away from his world with Hannibal.

 

The following weeks stretched on in some form of unknown oblivion. It went on very much the same. More meat began to fill their table, but Will formed no questions as to where it came from, and merely ate what was given to him. He always arrived home for meals. He did not go out into society with Hannibal, much to the doctor’s disappointment. Will knew a part of Hannibal wanted to show him off, as some form of prize, even if the people around them had no idea of the prize he was. Every night ended with a cup of tea and Hannibal at the end of his bed.

Will explored the city in his spare time, walking slowly and taking in as much as he could. He had no idea how soon they would have to leave, nor how soon they would return. The crisp air was touched with a dampness that came from the rain that had passed in the early morning of that day, dull clouds lulling overhead as Will’s shoes made contact with the cobblestone. His exploration today took him beneath Edinburgh itself, to what remained of the original city, that to this day remained beautiful in its destruction. The souls trapped down their forever, left to rot in that life and in the next. He opened the door to the flat, smelled the cooking of meat and he could feel his mouth water, but he did not scold himself anymore.

He could hear the distant humming from Hannibal, lost in his own mind as he performed his masterpiece. Will made his way slowly inside, being sure not to disturb Hannibal as he cook and simply grabbed himself a glass of water from the fridge, before moving to sit down on the sofa, flipping open his book to the last page he had skimmed. At precisely seven thirty, he removed himself from his spot and sat down to the right of the head of the table. The spot reserved for him. Hannibal came in not shortly after, placing the meal down in front of Will. 

Will glanced up to see the end of Hannibal’s smile grace his features. He waited momentarily for Hannibal to sit and once the man did, Will began to eat, cutting delicate pieces to place in his mouth, proper etiquette. He felt trained.

“Tell me, Hannibal,” Will spoke, not bothering to look up from his plate, “How long do I have before you lock me away, like a broken toy that can only be gazed at, but no longer played with?”


End file.
